The Lie of Having It All (Holly Ridge #3)

Chapter 1 – Leo

ONE

LEO

“Well, it’s a shithole,” I say, looking around.

Cracked concrete slabs make up the front walkway, and a couple of weed-filled garden beds line the path.

I’m sure the house was once quaint and well-kept, but right now it looks exactly as it has for some time—all but abandoned.

The inspector told me the place was structurally near perfect, but unfortunately, no one has occupied the property bordering the Three Kings Tree farm for at least five years.

The owners passed away and left the place to their kids, who never had the heart to sell it, despite living far away and barely maintaining it.

That is, until I came along with an offer they couldn’t refuse.

I’ve always believed in my decisions, always going with my gut and following through on each and every one.

When others think I’m about to fail spectacularly, I always have complete confidence in my choices and never second-guess my actions.

But right now, as I stand on the front lawn of the run-down four-bedroom home on the outskirts of Holly Ridge, I’m wondering what the fuck I was thinking.

It was an impulsive decision, one encouraged by my client Adam Porter, who told me that when he moved here, everything suddenly made sense, and he felt a sense of peace.

I thought it was bullshit, but when I looked at him, it was obvious.

His eyes were clearer, the bags under them lighter, his shoulders less hunched.

He smiled more, laughed, and joked. Looked at peace.

He was happy. While I’ve only recently become his agent to help him sell his songs, I’ve spent enough time in the same circles as the prolific songwriter and former rock band member to know that he’d been looking increasingly run-down over the past few years.

When my recent efforts to find my own sense of peace and calm hit dead ends over the past six months, each attempt railroaded by responsibility and my career, I realized I needed to take more drastic measures or else find myself following in my father’s footsteps straight into an early grave.

“But it’s your shithole,” a now-familiar voice calls, and when I turn to give her a menacing look, the redhead just grins wider.

Hallie Young is possibly the most interesting woman I’ve ever met, all bravado and attitude and shit-talking in a way few people are willing to do with me.

For that reason, strangely enough, I’ve come to enjoy her company.

Her fiancé, Jesse, towers beside her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her into him protectively, as if he’s afraid her taunting will end badly.

“Hal,” he says in a low warning, and she looks up at him over her shoulder, that smile taking over her entire face as if she is wholeheartedly entertained by this.

“What? It is. He bought the place; now it’s his shithole.”

In April, I asked Adam for his realtor’s name before I came to Holly Ridge for a charity concert where Atlas Oaks was performing.

I gave her a small but specific list of requirements, including land for relative peace and a long front drive to deter random visitors.

I asked for a place surrounded by trees, just like my childhood home.

I asked for at least three bedrooms, so I could have an office and a guest room, and I ended up with four.

Despite her warning that the town’s housing market was small, she managed to meet every one of those requirements with this place.

Unfortunately, I forgot to mention I would like the place to look well-kept and have up-to-date amenities. But when I scrolled through the photos and then checked out the property, I knew I couldn’t pass it up: it was far too perfect.

It’s the kind of place my dad would have seen the potential in.

“What are you even doing here?” I ask, finally turning to fully face her and taking in the small crowd that, for some reason, is here alongside her. “I invited Adam, not you.”

She grins but doesn’t speak.

“She found out I was coming and asked when and where,” Adam explains for her.

“And you told her?”

He shrugs.

“She’s scary. She threatened to torment me all summer if I didn’t tell her when we were coming by, and she made sure to tell me it wasn’t an empty threat.”

“Smart man. It wasn’t,” Jesse says from beside his fiancée. “Once she threatened to turn my daughter against me to torment me.”

“Because you were about to assault a deer!” Hallie says, throwing her hands in the air as if she’s annoyed that she needs to clear her name. Jesse looks down at her with a bored look.

“Assault is a bit extreme. I was going to scare off a deer. With a pinecone.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, same difference,” she says.

“They are incredibly different, Hallie,” Jesse clarifies. “You really need to stop telling people I tried to hurt a baby deer.”

“The story is much more interesting that way. Plus, what are you going to do, not marry me?” The man lets out a deep sigh but doesn’t argue.

Instead, he pulls her tighter into his side.

Hallie grins up at him before returning her attention to me.

“Anyway, I wanted to make sure I was part of the welcoming committee.”

“Welcome to Holly Ridge, where nobody does anything alone,” Adam mumbles, and then winces when his girlfriend, Wren, elbows him.

“Are you telling me that if I invite one of you to something, I’m getting all of you?”

“Well, not all of us. Some of us do occasionally have to work. Colt wanted to come see the place, but he’s getting a delivery today, so he has to stick close by.

But yeah. Pretty much,” Hallie responds with a shrug of her shoulder, as if this is totally normal.

In fact, she gives me a look as if I’m strange for thinking that their clearly co-dependent behaviors are off.

“Hallie, come on. You’re going to scare him off,” Wren says in a chiding voice to her best friend, because she’s not just Adam’s girlfriend, but Hallie’s best friend and Jesse’s little sister.

The town is close-knit, if not a little too close-knit.

“What? It’s true! You declared him one of us, so he might as well understand the consequences of that now,” Hallie argues.

I sigh, but decide ignoring them might be the better option and make my way up the path without saying another word.

As I do, I take note of projects that need to be done.

Unfortunately, they’re everywhere I look.

The siding looks okay, but it needs a fresh coat of paint.

The front door is a plain, generic slab that’s seen better days, though it will suffice until I get around to replacing it with something more appealing.

The front garden beds are completely trashed, with two half-dead bushes on the left and nothing but weeds and a few broken pavers on the right, which I assume were intended as a border.

Internally, I sigh, knowing I’ll have to hire out landscaping.

While I grew up in a family of contractors who taught me how to fix up just about anything, I didn’t seem to inherit a green thumb.

But the rest? The rest I can do. In fact, the rest I’m suddenly itching to do, despite the fact that I haven’t picked up a hammer in years for much more than hanging the occasional frame. For the first time in a while, I feel the urge to get my hands dirty.

The key slips into the lock with no resistance, turning smoothly even though the door sticks just a bit as I open it and step into the empty entryway.

The crew of intruders follows behind me, though I pay them no mind as I look around my new home.

It’s mostly empty, with a few pieces left behind, though considering I brought very little here, I’m grateful for that.

There’s a heavy dining room table and chairs I’m interested in stripping and refinishing, an old, beat-up coffee table that will work until I replace it, and a decent-looking dresser in the primary bedroom.

My dad would have seen nothing but potential within the walls, and right now, it’s like I’m seeing it through his eyes.

The bones are solid, though the floors need refinishing.

The walls are in good shape, with just a few pieces of drywall that need patching, though every wall without gaudy wallpaper needs repainting.

The ceilings have a few cosmetic cracks, which I know from my dad are from the old house settling over time, but nothing is outside my skill set.

“The inside’s not much better,” Hallie murmurs.

“Jesus, Hallie, stop it,” Jesse says, but I ignore them as I continue moving through the house and into the sunken living room, until I reach a set of sliding glass doors.

They stick and will probably need replacing, especially since the style is dated, but when I step out onto the pavers, I take a deep breath, relief moving through me.

More than anything, this is why I bought the place.

The outdoors hasn’t been something I’ve enjoyed much in the past ten years, but as I take in a deep breath of fresh air, it feels like a new start, filling my lungs and sending relief buzzing through my veins.

“Okay, the inside is questionable, but this…this makes it worth it,” Wren breathes, and I couldn’t agree more. The entire property is lined by trees except for a large grassy plot behind the house. Privacy, nature, and a sense of peace remind me of my childhood, when things were simpler and easier.

To my left is a set of stairs to a deck, the door to which is through the dining room and is intended for an outdoor eating space, but it needs a ton of work.